Harp Lessons
by anonmachine
Summary: Glorfindel has to teach a musically challenged pupil, Lindeith. When the Spring Festival comes, Lord Elrond decides to let Lindeith play! Will disaster strike?


**Disclaimer**: I do not and will not ever own these characters and you know it!

**Author's Note**: This little story is inspired by something I read recently. Hope you guys enjoy it!

* * *

'Teach him to play the harp?!' demanded Glorfindel incredulously.

'Yes, _mellon nin_ (my friend), teach young Lindeith to play the harp.'

'But why me?'

'Why not you?'

'Lord Elrond! I am a chief advisor! I do not go teaching young elflings to play the harp!'

Elrond gazed at his friend patiently. 'Glorfindel, teach him, for me. He is the son of my dearest late friend and it was a promise.'

'Then it should be you who should teach him,' replied Glorfindel sourly.

'Glorfindel...' there was a hint of warning in that tone.

Glorfindel sighed, defeated. 'As you wish O' Mighty Lord of Imladris,' he said scathingly.

'Tis not that bad! Elflings should pick up fast, don't they?'

Glorfindel gave him a look that could very clearly be interpreted as a glare.

* * *

Glorfindel studied his pupil closely, scrutinizing him. Beneath his gaze, Lindeith fidgeted uncomfortably.

'Would you like to play the harp?'

A shy nod and a barely audible whisper was his answer, 'Yes, _hiril nin_ (my lord).'

'Hand me your harp, _pen-neth_ (young one).'

The blonde elfling dutifully handed the elf-lord his harp.

Glorfindel studied the make of the harp. He traced his slender fingers across the elvish runes at were carved into the wood; it was exquisite. Glorfindel ran his fingers through the strings experimentally. It sang beautifully. Satisfied, he handed the harp back.

'Your harp is of good make. Tell me, who crafted it?'

'My father...' came the soft reply.

He placed a hand on the small shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. 'He was a good elf, Lindeith; he died protecting the people of Imladris. His death was not in vain. He shall be remembered fondly.'

Lindeith nodded sadly as a tear ran down his cheek. 'I miss him. I never got to say goodbye...'

There was a silence as they remembered the noble and honorable Arlandel, Captain of the Royal Guards.

'Come now, let us begin out lesson...'

* * *

Having tutored countless elflings to play the harp, Glorfindel found that each elfling has his own level of musical ability and comprehension and interpretation. Although the twice-born Balrog slayer had also had his share of "musically challenged" pupils, Lindeith proved to be own a level of his own.

When Lindeith strummed the strings, Glorfindel thought of the Sauron-spawned orcs squirming in their graves. Lindeith simply was not gifted in this area – he lacked the tone and basic rhythm. To add weight to this fact, he did not feel the music and the notes that passed from his fingers slipped and wobbled away dismally.

Nevertheless, Lindeith tried hard, plucking and humming tone-deaflessly along the hills and dipping valleys of elvish songs.

Hours passed into days, days into weeks, and weeks into months, but never once did the elf lord discourage his pupil.

Then one day, young Lindeith stopped coming for the weekly lessons. At fisrt, Glorfindel considered paying the elfling a visit but assumed, because of severe lack of ability, that the elfling had decided to pursue something else.

'Like archery...' mused Glorfindel to himself, 'by Valar, I hope his fingers prove to be better on the strings of his bow than of his harp!'

* * *

Spring was coming. Lord Elrond had planned a celebration to welcome the coming of spring. The Spring Festival.

Minstrels were to play of course. To serenade the guest whilst they dine and to provide entertainment when the last drop of wine had been drain from crystal wine glasses.

To Glorfindel's shock and dismay, Lindeith asked him if he could play a piece during the celebrations. Elrond of course, was delighted.

'Certainly, Lindeith! I long to hear what this elf here has taught you in the months he coached you!'

Glorfindel felt totally and completely helpless - for it was decided that Lindeith was going to play at the festival. Glorfindel closed his eyes and imagined the expressions of the guests and shuddered.

'Sweet Eru!' he muttered, 'just how much must they put a twice-born Balrog slayer through?!'

The night for the festivities soon came. Glorfindel had managed to put Lindeith last on the programme. 'If he did any damage, I could always salvage his poor performance!' he whispered to Erestor, over the desert of cream and wild berries.

'Don't speak ill of that elfling, Glorfindel! Surely he cannot be that bad!'

'You have not heard him play, Erestor!' Glorfindel protested, digging with his fork into the salad before him. He secretly wished it was his own grave he was digging now.

Finally, the time came for Lindeith to approach the stage. Glorfindel closed his eyes briefly and muttered a prayer to what ever gods that were listening.

There were murmurs of disapproval from the crowd. 'Sweet Eru! The elfling has not even started and there are already complaints!' he said to himself. Glorfindel forced himself to look upon the tiny elfling on the stage... and groaned inwardly.

Lindeith's pale blue robes were wrinkled and his hair was terrible. All the child-braids of Imladris were loose and strands of dirty hair partly veiled the pale and smudged face.

He fought the urge to run to the child and pluck the leafy twig jutting so prominently from the blonde mass.

'Why didn't his _amme_ (mother) ensured he took a bath before the party?! Why is his hair is such a state?!' Glorfindel was apoplectic inside.

'Good evening Lord Elrond, Lord Elladan and Elrohir, Lady Arwen and those gathered here tonight. I was taught to play by Lord Glorfindel. He is the most patient and wonderful teacher anyone could have. I am grateful that he took the time and trouble to teach me,' he bowed in Glorfindel's direction, much to the elf-lord's chagrin, 'I have chosen my piece to play. It is "_The Lay of Luthien and Beren_".'

Glorfindel stared at the tiny elfling standing alone on the stage.

'Is he mad?' Glorfindel wondered, 'that song is only played by those who have mastered the instrument! It would have been wiser if he had chosen something easier like "_The Stars in the Sky_" than that piece! Oh Valar...'

Everyone fell into silence as they waited expectantly for Lindeith to begin.

No one was prepared for what they heard next. Not even Glorfindel himself

Lindeith's fingers were light as they danced nimbly on the strings. His stringed instrument sang in the silence of those present, clear and beautiful, the notes resounding in the stillness.

Glorfindel gazed at Lindeith in wide-eyes astonishment. Never had he heard that piece played so well nor beautifully by an elf of Lindeith's age.

Lindeith ended the song in a grand crescendo and the elves leaped to their feet, applauding loudly.

Overcome and in tears, Glorfindel hitched up his robes and leapt onto the stage and embraced Lindeith.

'By Manwe's blessings, child! I've never heard you play like that! How did you do it?' Glorfindel demanded, ruffling Lindeith's hair. He even managed to pluck the twig out and disposed of it neatly. 

There were tears in the young elf's eyes. 'Well, Lord Glorfindel, my mother has gone to the Halls of Mandos this morn. She faded because of grief. She is with my _ada_ (father) now. She was born deaf... She has never heard me play before. I wanted to make it special...'

* * *

THE END.

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Do you like it? 


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